For the last fifteen or so years, groups of St Aloysius' students have been joining a Philippines immersion for three weeks. At the end of that experience — one which both nourishes and tears at the heart — there is a period spent sharing the lives of inmates (and their families) at the national penitentiary in Muntinlupa.
There they have engaged in conversations, meals, Masses and games with juvenile offenders, medium- and maximum-security prisoners, and those on death row. Included, too, was a visit to the execution compound.
Approaching the walled and caged building where the sentence was carried out, our young fellows have always been struck by something of a paradox proclaimed in two signs at the door: ‘Bureau of Corrections’ alongside ‘Lethal Injection Chamber’. They were quick to seize upon it. ‘How can you correct and rehabilitate a person after you have killed him?’ they would ask.
Prior to the visit, many of our immersionistas begin with a conviction that in certain extreme cases, a death sentence is appropriate. Then we first enter the end room of the complex, the public viewing room where twenty or so ‘guests’ could view an execution. These would include officials, the press and members of the condemned man’s family or even those of the victim’s family. A one-way mirror looks into the injecting room.
We then move to the other end of the building, the cell which the condemned man enters early in the morning of his execution. A tiny window allows limited communication with his family or the chaplain. The room is rubberised and padded in case the man attempts to do himself an injury and thus cheat the state of its proper process. He will order his favourite meal for lunch.
In an adjoining room is a red phone to Malacañang Palace, the residence of the president, in case there is a stay of execution. If not, the prisoner is taken to the execution room and strapped to a table in cruciform-shape. From that cross-like position, he can gaze at a crucifix on the wall. There are layers of religious piety here — unsubtle and sickening attempts at sanctifying the process. The boys gently touch the leather binding straps on the execution table, a curious blend of both reality-check and a reverence.
'Walking back to the Jesuit chaplaincy, the boys quietly talked in twos or threes. Subdued. Reflective. It was rare for any of them to believe in the death penalty any more.'
Behind another wall are phlebotomists who have intubated the man and are now awaiting a signal to administer a triple mixture of relaxant, then muscle paralyser, then a massive dose of potassium chloride to stop the heart. Initially medical doctors performed this, but the Philippines Medical Association forbade any members to participate. So the deed was passed on to technicians.
In the execution room, the condemned man is allowed final words into a suspended microphone which can be heard in the viewing room. When the clock on the wall hits 3.00pm a signal is given and the drugs are administered. Yes, this is the time that Jesus died. Yet another pathetic attempt to give this whole charade a pious veneer.
Nowhere has it been shown that the death penalty reduces serious crime. Nowhere has it been demonstrated a deterrent effect. The victims are always the poor. The rich are never executed, they have too much power and influence.
The prison chaplain, Monsignor Bobby Olaguer, was present at all of these executions. He accompanied the men in the months leading up to their last day. He befriended them. He stood by them, their eyes gazing into his as they died. He says it is not a painless or clinical procedure. He saw agony each time. Often not a quick death, but painfully botched.
When I asked him once, what was it like, he said, ‘At that moment, I am Christ for this man.’ He did not say such a thing to big note himself. He meant that this is where God was in the blackest moment, standing by a victim in compassion and in solidarity. When all others had deserted the man, or were taken away, he was there. He went on to say it took some weeks to get over the experience, to process the loss, to come to terms with the injustice.
When one president removed capital punishment from the statute books there were about a thousand men still on death row. Theirs remained a living hell. Each month they would have their death sentence postponed for another month and the clock would start ticking again. Would there be another reprieve, or would this be it? But now that trauma is over. The Philippines became the first Asian country to abolish capital punishment.
As usual, as our visit concludes, the caretaker asks us to pray for those executed. We would pray for them and those who still mourn the taking of their lives. We would pray for healing for the victims’ families. We would pray for more countries to strike the death penalty from their law codes.
When we left this building, this house of sorrows, it always seemed fresher, greener, outside. An openness and a felt freedom. Walking back to the Jesuit chaplaincy, the boys quietly talked in twos or threes. Subdued. Reflective. It was rare for any of them to believe in the death penalty any more.
Earlier this month, Pope Francis released his latest encyclical letter, Fratelli Tutti (‘All Brothers’) on fraternity and social relationships. Within the document, he ratifies a change in Church teaching — on the death penalty.
For nearly two millennia, the Church had endorsed the death penalty for serious crimes. Indeed, there were times in its ecclesiastical courts that the Church imposed and carried out executions, particularly of heretics. Thomas Aquinas, arguably one of the Church’s greatest theologians, had justified such actions.
'For Francis, the inalienable dignity of the human person must never be eroded. It is a dignity and worth that comes simply from each and every human person being loved by God.'
In 2018 Francis made a change in the Catholic Catechism, when he declared the death penalty ‘inadmissible’. He was following upon his predecessor, Pope John Paul II, who in the 1995 encyclical Evangelium Vitae, declared that the occasions which justified capital punishment were ‘very rare, if not practically non-existent’. Both he and Pope Benedict XVI called for its abolition.
Now, in an encyclical — which ranks among the most authoritative and definitive modes of teaching — Pope Francis is unambiguously clear:
‘Today we state clearly that the death penalty is inadmissible and the Church is firmly committed to calling for its abolition worldwide.’
He also went on to condemn life imprisonment, which he labels a ‘secret death penalty’.
Underscoring his position is a call to mercy. In addition, he wants to draw people out of attitudes of revenge. He suggests, ‘Fear and resentment can easily lead to viewing punishment in a vindictive and even cruel way, rather than as part of a process of healing and reintegration into society.’
For Francis, the inalienable dignity of the human person must never be eroded. It is a dignity and worth that comes simply from each and every human person being loved by God.
Francis’ encyclical gives great solace to those who have been advocating such a position for a long time. One such person was the late Eileen Egan, an American Catholic journalist, activist, and pacifist. For a consistent life ethic, she coined the phrase of the ‘Seamless Garment’ approach. It is a scriptural allusion to John 19:23, where the centurions at Calvary cannot divide Jesus’ garment between them because it was seamless, in one piece.
This life ethic was then popularised by the late Cardinal Bernardin of Chicago whose pro-life stand defended the sanctity of life against the whole spectrum of abortion, euthanasia, suicide, war, the death penalty, or any other social issues that can result in the direct/indirect death of human beings.
A seamless stance. A continuum. Something to be shepherded. As Jesus would have it when speaking of himself as a shepherd and gatekeeper (John 10:10): ‘I have come that they may have life — and have it to the full.’
Fr Ross Jones SJ is the rector at St Aloysius'. This article was originally published in The Gonzagan.
Main image: Lethal injection chamber (Supplied)